Day six...Generations of a crepe...

I remember as a little girl spending a lot of time with my Oma. ( my mum's mother ) With both parents working our Oma took on the roll of caretaker for quite a few years. I have so many fond memories playing at her house. She was a seamstress so she had drawers filled with luscious silks she'd lets us play dress ups in, an ancient record player that took these tiny records that played children's nursery rhymes, and a fun backyard with an old greenhouse down the back to explore in.

But what I remember most about Oma's house was the delicious aromas of European food. With a Russian background Oma could cook up a storm like no ones business. and of course all from scratch. My mouth is watering just remember some of the yummy foods she made - time consuming, intricate dishes - recipes and ingredients locked in her head, that sadly have gone to the grave with her.

Some I've tried to replicate, with some success, others will just live in my memory, along with my beloved Oma.

One that is a family favorite and a Sunday tradition in our family is her pancakes. Crepes really. Thin and delicate, I ate many of those yummy pancakes at her house. Oma had a really old cast iron pan - completely black from years of use and being "seasoned". That pan never got washed, just wiped and re-oiled. She also had a huge fork that she wrapped with paper towel and a rubber band ( just remembering that imagine makes me smile today ) she would dip that fork into oil and coat her pan, wait for the right temperature and then pour some batter into the pan, swirling it around with a twist of her wrist.

She taught us to eat those crepes with lemon juice and sprinkled with sugar, or sour cream and honey - my favorite to this day.

My dad also learned how to make those crepes, and as kids we ate them his house too.

Today, I make those yummy pancakes - instead of "the fork" I use spray oil. But the rest is the same - I still eat them with sour cream and honey, and now does Grace.

I can't wait for the day when she's making them for me, or for her kids - maybe even all of us.

I'm grateful for those pancakes, the sweet memories of my Oma - and for sharing this tradition with my children.